"What is the point?"
"The point is I grew up sharing a bathroom with six other kids." He turned back to the road. "Your family has staff."
I reached over and placed my hand on his thigh. Felt the muscle tense beneath my palm.
"They're not going to hate you," I said.
"You don't know that either."
"I know I don't care what they think. I told you that."
"And I told you that you should care. They're your family."
"So are you."
That stopped him. I watched his profile, the way his throat worked as he swallowed.
He didn't respond, but his hand dropped from the wheel to cover mine on his thigh.
"If your father kills me," he said finally, "I want to be buried somewhere with a view."
"Noted."
Tristan opened the door.
He was wearing one of his casual-rich outfits: a cashmere sweater and tailored pants, the kind of effortless elegance that probably cost more than Vance's monthly salary. His expression shifted from neutral to something warmer when he saw us.
"You made it." He stepped aside to let us in. "Mom's been checking the window every five minutes."
"Traffic," Vance said.
"Traffic, he says." Tristan caught my eye, amused. "You look like you're about to face a firing squad."
"Feels like it."
"Relax. The interrogation phase is over. Tonight's just dinner." Tristan clapped Vance on the shoulder, a gesture that made Vance stiffen slightly. "Fair warning: Mom's been stress-cooking all afternoon. Dad's on his second scotch."
"That bad?" I asked.
"He's nervous." Tristan lowered his voice. "Don't tell him I told you. He's been practicing conversation topics all week."
"Our father doesn't do small talk."
"Exactly. That's why he's practicing."
The apartment looked the same: high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the park, art on the walls that cost more than most people's houses. I'd grown up surrounded by this wealth, these expectations, the suffocating perfection.
It felt different now. Smaller, somehow. Less intimidating.
Or maybe I was just different.
My mother emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron that probably cost two hundred dollars. Her face lit up when she saw me. Really lit up, not the polished social smile I'd grown up with.
"Tobias." She pulled me into a hug, holding on longer than usual. "I'm so glad you came."
"I said I would."
"I know. I'm still glad." She pulled back and turned to Vance. Her expression softened into something genuine. "And you must be Vance."
